


Mi'nas'sal'in

by queenofkadara



Series: Vir'Abelasan: Abelas & Athera Lavellan [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, I am so sorry, Mutual Pining, just a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara/pseuds/queenofkadara
Summary: He never said it when they were together.It was not because Abelas didn’t have the chance. There were a multitude of moments when he could have told Athera that he loved her, but he never told her so.And now it is too late.***************A sequel toDon't Wake Me Up,the most recent piece from myAbelas/Athera Lavellan series.
Relationships: Abelas/Female Inquisitor, Abelas/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Abelas/Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Abelas/Lavellan (Dragon Age)
Series: Vir'Abelasan: Abelas & Athera Lavellan [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1115607
Comments: 27
Kudos: 43





	Mi'nas'sal'in

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt fill for DA Drunk Writing Friday. The prompts: 
> 
> \- "The way you said I love you": From very far away  
> \- a letter from your OC to their love interest, with the OC of your choice.

__

_[Mi'nas'sal'in:](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848?view_full_work=true) the intense feeling of missing something or someone that is deeply important or personal. Literally, 'the knife again in my soul'. _

************************ 

He never said it when they were together.

It was not because Abelas didn’t have the chance. There were a multitude of moments when he could have told Athera that he loved her. Now that they are apart, with Abelas following faithfully at Fen’Harel’s side while Athera does her best to unravel their plans from afar, the memories of those many lost moments torture him during the times when there is nothing else to occupy his mind. 

He could have said it when they were eating those tiny Orlesian cakes in the kitchen at Tarasyl’an Te’las. Her smile was secretive when she removed the cover from the platter of cakes, and the way she popped each whole cake in her mouth was endearingly common. He loved Athera, with her mischievous smile and the way she teased Solas for having a sweet tooth when she herself harboured a fiendish fondness for sugar. 

But he didn’t tell her so.

He could have said it during one of the blissful and too-few times that they were making love. Abelas hadn’t been touched this way in over a thousand years, and Athera had all the eagerness and energy of youth, and the way they came together was… _fenedhis,_ it was better than anything his vast and melancholy morass of memories could conjure. She arched into his fingers and his tongue in a way that made him feel so incredibly _wanted,_ and she gave herself to him so completely, pouring a potent combination of emotion and desire into every kiss and every arching thrust as she brought herself down against his hips. He loved Athera, loved the heat of her tongue and the taste of the nectar between her legs and the sweet feeling of sinking inside of her. 

But he didn’t tell her so.

He could have said it the last time he saw her in a dream, after Fen’Harel had taken the mark from her ill-fated arm. He _should_ have said it then; it was their last chance, and both of them knew it. He should have said it before she woke, before the Fade faded away from her and stole her from his grasp. He loved Athera, loved her conviction and her commitment to her duty and how gently she touched him despite the barrier of their opposing goals.

But he didn’t tell her so. And now it is too late. 

It has been a year since Abelas last saw Athera, and still he thinks of her late at night in those quiet and desolate moments when he lies on his pallet with nothing else to do. He thinks of her, running over the memories of their too-brief time together, and he thinks of how he loves her and how she never knew.

It is on one of these lonely nights that he visits Tarasyl’an Te’las in a dream. The Dread Wolf’s old stronghold is empty once again, abandoned shortly after Fen’Harel revealed himself to Athera. As per Fen’Harel’s extensive network of agents, the Inquisition now operates as a series of connected cells in disparate places across the continent, and Abelas knows that Fen’Harel both approves of the Inquisition’s decentralization and pities their attempts to keep up with him. 

Abelas can’t decide how he feels about this mixture of approval and pity. But he knows that Athera would be angry if she knew of her former best friend’s pity, and this is enough to make his heart ache.

He treads softly through the fortress in his dream, nodding graciously to the many spirits that hover here and skimming over the memories that are stored in the ancient stones. He soon finds himself in _her_ bedroom — the bedroom that she shared with him during the precious handful of nights they spent together. It is his intention to sink into the memories here, to torture himself by gorging on the moments of their love that have sunk into this sacred space. 

But the room is already occupied by spirits, and they are gathered around the writing desk.

Curious, Abelas approaches the desk, then stops short in shock: there are three letters on the desk, and the letters are made of parchment. Mundane parchment from _her_ world, which has somehow found its way into the Fade. 

Even more shocking is the fact that the letters are addressed to him – addressed in _her_ large and loopy handwriting. 

His pulse is pounding in his ears. Numbly, carefully, he picks the first letter up. It is dated Drakonis 16: nine months ago.

> Abelas,
> 
> I wonder if this will get to you? I honestly have no idea. I burned this letter in a veilfire torch as an experiment. ~~Solas~~ your precious friend Fen’Harel said veilfire straddles our world and the Fade, so I figured, what’s the harm? Worse comes to worst, I wrote and burned a letter. It’ll hardly be the craziest thing I’ve ever done. Actually, it’s probably better if this doesn’t get to you. I just hope it doesn’t pop into the Fade on some poor unsuspecting spirit’s head.
> 
> I wonder how you are. I’m doing great. I just realized I can’t tell you anything else about what I’m doing because you’ll just take it back to fucking Fen’Harel. I ~~hate~~ miss you.
> 
> Since I can’t tell you anything meaningful, here are some random thoughts instead.
> 
> \- Deep mushroom is terrible on cakes and in tea. Don’t trust Orlesian tastes.  
>  \- Why are there so many words for the colour blue? Cerulean, navy, midnight, ocean, sky, indigo… are there this many words for colours in old Elvhen? I bet there are even more. Elvhen seems tricky that way.  
>  \- What would happen if I cut my hair? Would the voices from the Vir’Abelasan stop making my hair dance around in my dreams? Probably not. Either way, I’m thinking about cutting my hair.  
>  \- I’m reading _This Shit Is Weird_ again for nostalgia reasons and I love the way Varric portrayed ~~Blackwall~~ Thom. He’s such a romantic hero, and Varric got him pegged. I swear that even Cassandra swoons over it.  
>  \- Crystal grace is my favourite flower. Did I ever tell you that? It’s so pretty.
> 
> That’s all I can think of for now. 
> 
> Love, Athera

There are splotches in the ink on the second half of the letter, like the echoes of teardrops on the parchment, and Abelas can’t breathe. It feels like there is a vice compressing his ribs.

He picks up the second letter. It is dated from five months ago.

> Dear Abelas,
> 
> Some more random thoughts.
> 
> \- Who do you think was the first person who looked at a nug and thought, ‘you know what I should do? Breed this little creature to be huge so I can ride it into battle.’ Who did that? Who thought that was a good idea? I love nuggalopes, don’t get me wrong, but still. They’re sort of obscene.  
>  \- The Grand Tourney is quite fun to watch. Thom and Varric brought me to see it. It’s basically this big sparring competition that happens in the Free Marches. I would never have gone before the Inquisition because, you know, Dalish. So I guess that’s something nice that’s come out of this.  
>  \- ~~Sometimes I lie awake in the middle of the night and wonder what it would feel like if I just stopped breathing. If I just held my breath and didn’t~~  
>  \- I talked Dorian into reading sections of _Swords and Shields_ to me at night through the sending crystal when I can’t sleep. It’s so funny that I swear I can’t breathe from laughing by the time he finishes a page. Maevaris must think he’s gone mad.
> 
> Love, Athera

Abelas wipes his face and picks up the third and final letter. It is dated from two months ago.

> Abelas,
> 
> Some random thoughts:
> 
> \- Here are some of the many words for red: carmine, scarlet, blood, ruby, pomegranate, tomato, cherry – no, now I’m just listing foods. I must be hungry.  
>  \- Isn’t it strange how some grass feels nice and soft under your feet, and some grass is pokey and it just tickles you? Grass is strange. All plants are strange, really. (I am not high, I promise.)  
>  I managed to land a hit on Thom the other day when he was training me with a sword and the shield for my missing arm. Considering that I’m all unbalanced, I’d say that’s pretty damn good.  
>  \- I love you. I hate that I love you. I hate that I still fucking miss you. I thought about asking Cole to make me forget you before he went back to the Fade, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I should have. I wonder if he would have done it.
> 
> Love, Athera

He stares numbly at the letters. He should take them to Fen’Harel. There may be clues in these letters, hints about the Inquisition’s activity that Solas will be able to pick out due to familiarity with its people. Besides, it is important for Fen’Harel to know that burning an item in veilfire sends it to the Fade. Perhaps he is already aware, but it is something that Abelas didn’t know; there is still much he doesn’t fully understand about the way the deadened world interacts with the potency of the Fade.

He sinks to his knees and stares at the letters. She was writing to him all this time. Writing to him without knowing that he would ever see these letters. Writing to him because she missed him and wished that they could speak. 

Athera was writing to him because she loves him. And Abelas never told her so. 

The pain is like a howling pit in his chest. The spirits are crowding around him and crooning with his reflected sorrow, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell them that their company only hurts him more. 

He remains in her bedroom for time uncounted. He reads the letters again and again, hearing her sunny laugh in his head and imagining her clear grey eyes filling with tears as they did so many times – too many times – during their short time together. He reads the letters again and again, his gaze lingering on the love that marks the end of each one.

He should show the letters to Fen’Harel. He knows the price of betraying the Dread Wolf, the price paid by the slow arrow, and it is a price that Abelas can ill afford, not while he still has a duty to fulfill to his people and to Mythal. 

He wonders if Athera will write more letters. There was no final farewell on the most recent one.

He wonders if he wants her to. 

By the time he rises to his feet to leave Tarasyl’an Te’las, his heart is so heavy that it’s a wonder he can stand. He lingers for a moment, his gaze on the bed they shared — the bed they lay in together and moved in together and talked in until the deepest hours of the night. 

He never told Athera he loved her, because he didn’t want to make this harder for her. The love Abelas harbours is selfish, an empty offering that has given her nothing but pain and a binding more cruel than the kind that those Tevinter mages place on the spirits they seek to control. He never told her he loved her, hoping that if the words remained unsaid, the consequences would be less painful for them both.

He stares at her letters. In these words of devotion written in her hand, his naïveté and his denial are laid bare, and Abelas wishes with his entire broken heart that he had told her while he had the chance.

He wipes his tear-stained face. She is no longer here in the place where they talked and laughed and moved together in a torrid tempest of desperation, and he doesn’t know if she will ever come back. 

He takes a deep breath. Then, far too late, he tells her.

“I love you, Athera,” he whispers. “You deserved better than a tired old warrior like me.” 

His words rise into the air to join the spirits still clamouring around him, and in their nebulous and never-ending memories, he knows his love will stay here forever. 

He folds the letters carefully and places them in the pouch at his belt. Then, with one last lingering look at her bed, Abelas steps out of the Fade.

**Author's Note:**

> Ir abelas, my friends. I am so sorry.
> 
> Update in 2021: I am writing a modern AU university fic with Abelas and Athera, if anyone wants something with a happy ending for these two! It is called [Inadvisable,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737966/chapters/65231236) and it is a triple-romance fic featuring Abelas, Solas, and Felassan, each of whom get a full romance arc and happy ending with a lucky Lavellan lady. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your humble service.


End file.
